


Smell You Later

by PilDoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Cain (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, And a lil cranky when he's hungover, Dating, Dean being a lil slutty, Farmer's Markets, M/M, Mating Bond, Omega Dean, Scent Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilDoor/pseuds/PilDoor
Summary: I know, right? Two fics in one day after, what, 8 months of radio silence? Wild.





	Smell You Later

**Author's Note:**

> I know, right? Two fics in one day after, what, 8 months of radio silence? Wild.

Dean enters through the double doors into the large dining room. He’s been to Charlie’s socials enough that he’s not surprised by the crowd anymore. But a crowd there is.

He’d shoot at there being around 75 people tonight. Not a record, by far, but it is also a random Thursday in November. 

He takes in the many fitted suits and the cocktail dresses in every color on the spectrum that mingle around on the floor, eating hors d'oeuvre and drinking sparkling wine. 

Even more noticeable is the symphony of scents in the air. 

This being a single party - a party for singles - Charlie encourages everyone not to wear blockers to the event in her invitations. Dean’s nose is bombarded with them. It’s hard to distinguish any one scent, perhaps with the exception of the people standing the closest to him. Or some of the alphas with really potent stinks. Dean scrunches up his nose as one passes by him, hand already up some young, impressionable omega's dress.

The void of blockers is so that people can better determine whether they’re compatible at all or maybe even scent bond material. 

If scent bond is a thing anyway. Supposedly, the way a scent bond works is that once you get a whiff of your true mate, the one you’d make the strongest babies with or whatever, that scent mingles with yours, changing it. 

Dean’s ambivalent on the theory. It sounds ridiculous that there’s one Alpha out there for him who’s genetically perfectly aligned with him, to the extent that it changes Dean’s make-up without a bite. 

But on the other hand, everybody knows that once you bond, your scent does change, it does make space for some of your mate’s notes and vice versa. That’s why it’s maybe not completely preposterous that it could happen to two really compatible people before the bite.

Dean’s just never met anyone who’s experienced it. He’s read online counts of it, sure, but people come up with all kinds of crap for likes.

Besides, Dean’s past his prime mating age and still hopelessly unmated. So he goes to Charlie’s parties and they’re fun and all, and he’s had some luck that has lasted a night, a heat cycle, one long-lasting record of three months. But ultimately, Dean always ends up back here.

And now he mostly goes because 1) all his friends are mated with pups and don’t have time to hang out with him during the week and 2) Charlie would kill him if he didn’t show. Or at least give him that hauntedly hurt stare that she does.

Right now though, she’s smiling when she spots him. She excuses herself from the lovely omega she’s talking to and makes a beeline for him, snatching up two glasses of wine from a tray on her way over.

“If it isn’t my favorite handmaiden,” she says, grinning excitedly. She hands a glass off to him and stands on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for coming. Every time I send an invitation to you, I’m sure it will be the time you’re done humoring me.”

Dean smiles and swallows a sip of wine. “Never.”

She clasps her hands in front of her chest and smiles up at him. Dean makes a grimace at her mocking. 

“How’s Sam?” she asks. She smiles in greeting at a couple of people passing her. Dean is hit with a strong omega scent, Eucalyptus-y, which is unique but kind of pleasant in a room full of alphas sweating in their suits.

“Good,” Dean says. “Busy trying to round up his college-girlfriend.”

“What?” Charlie raises her eyebrows in surprise. “From Stanford?”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugs, “She apparently moved to Kansas at some point after graduation.”

“Well, good for him,” Charlie says. “Hey, speaking of ‘rounding up’ people.” She gets that glint in her eye.

Dean groans. Every single party Charlie introduces Dean to some Alpha she thinks is just perfect for him. So far? Not so much.

“Hey, are you still into murder stories?” Charlie asks.

Dean confesses that he is. Guilty pleasure. Sam’s fault, really, for dragging him to every serial killer’s house/museum/old college/whatever they happened to come across while moving around growing up.

“I need to introduce you to Cain,” Charlie says, excited. “He’s a murder story-slash-serial killer facts _wiz_.”

Dean raises her eyebrows, sceptical. “That’s… comforting.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, “He’s not a psycho. He worked with my dad.”

“Your dad?” Dean frowns. He’s twice Dean’s age.

“Yeah,” Charlie says and then sees his expression, “Yeah, okay, he’s a little older than you, but he’s not some boring, old man, I promise! Plus, he’s got that whole distinguished gray beard thing going on. Positively dreamy.”

Dean sighs. He likes distinguished beards and he likes _dreamy_, and he knows, even if Charlie isn’t saying it, that he’s socially renowned and rich as F.

Hey, Dean’s not a snob, but he’s _been _dating. For a looong time. And if you’re going to go on shitty dates, it might as well be with someone who drives a Tesla and will pay for your Surf n Turf dinner.

“Fine,” Dean mutters, as if Charlie isn't already leading (read: dragging) him towards a group of people standing near the closed doors to the patio.

There are about five or six people are far as Dean can see. He can’t tell how many are alphas and how many are omegas, there are too many scents in the air. But they’re all gorgeous. 

There’s a woman with red hair and full lips. She’s definitely an alpha. Dean can tell from her large build - long legs, wide shoulders, not a gram of extra fat but defined muscle on display in the strapless cocktail dress she’s wearing. The way she laughs, loud and commandeering cements it further. Dean can smell a rich fruity scent as he gets closer, but he’s not certain if it’s her.

He can see two other women. Young omegas, who don’t speak and look up at the alphas as they run the conversation, all doe-eyed. Dean can’t believe he was ever that young.

There’s a guy, too. Dean thinks he’s an alpha, though it’s hard to tell from a distance. He’s not taking up space in the way that alphas typically do, like that woman, and the other alpha male in the circle, are doing, with spread legs and large movements.

Instead, he simply holding his glass of wine, following the conversation. He’s not talking as loud as the other two, but Dean loses a moment watching his lips form words that he can’t read. Those lips almost make Dean think he might be an omega, they’re that pretty.

He’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses and the light reflects on them at an angle so that Dean can’t read his expression or see his eyes. All he can see is that he is _beautiful_.

The last man in the circle is definitely an alpha. He’s tall and loud and taking up half the circle with his arm movements as he talks, and he doesn’t even look at the two little omegas in front of him.

As they get closer Dean catches a whiff of something _dreamy_ and thinks, maybe this time, Charlie hit it on its head. He can fucking _feel_ that scent. It’s all around him, _inside_ him. It makes him feel all tingly and shy.

Charlie reaches for the tall alpha standing with his back to her and Dean. His hair is gray and semi-long. Longer than Sam’s. He somehow pulls it off though. He can’t say the same about Sam. Two minutes with some clippers, that’s all he asks.

The alpha turns around after excusing himself from the group, and wow, that is a distinguished beard. His eyes are light blue, cold really, until they land on Charlie and he smiles behind his beard.

“Oh, the hostess. Celeste, it’s so good to see you,” he greets her, accepting the kisses she plants on both his cheeks.

“You too, Cain. It’s been too long,” Charlie says. Then, before Cain can attempt any kind of niceties, she pushes Dean forward. 

“I want you to meet my friend. This is Dean,” she says with a polite smile she probably learned at a charity dinner growing up.

The alpha extends his hand to Dean, and while Dean shakes it he says, “Nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Cain.”

Dean smiles. He says something polite. He hopes. He’s not really sure what’s coming out of his mouth, much too focused on the scent flooding his senses.

Charlie disappears without his noticing - or maybe he and Cain are the ones disappearing. The alpha is leading him away from the group by his elbow and talking about… Charlie’s dad?

Dean blinks and snaps out of it. The scent’s not all-encompassing anymore but he can still smell it. It’s warm but fresh, like a thunderstorm, lightening and thunder - but there’s notes of the promise of spending the day inside under the covers buried in there too.

“Celeste, of course, was not impressed. She fixed the whole website that same day,” Cain finishes, chuckling at his story.

Dean chuckles too because why not?

Cain leads Dean around the dining room, and they talk about the kinds of things you talk about at this kind of thing. How does Dean know Charlie? How long has he lived in Kansas? Does he like his job? Does Cain like his job? And then a long one-sided conversation about how Cain summers in Italy every year.

It’s not groundbreaking but Cain is hot and he does smell good.

Dean says yes when Cain asks if he can come home with him.

Again, it’s not groundbreaking. Better than nothing though.

Cain is already dressed when Dean wakes the next morning. He leans down to kiss Dean on the mouth and whips his hair back when he stands back up. Dean likes that hair.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Dean. I have to get to work,” Cain tells him and before Dean can mumble some sort of answer, he’s out the door. So _alpha_.

Dean has a half-day and doesn’t have to be at the office until noon. He snuggles further into his pillow, and sighs when that thunderstorm scent hits him again. It goes beautifully with his own grassy sunshine scent. Not that he can usually smell himself, being around it all the time and all. But this scent complements his own. Besides, it’s kind of potent after the roll in the sheets last night. Dean even slept in the wet spot.

Even if the sex was only mediocre, he might have to call Cain just to get this scent to be a permanent fixture in his bed.

He rolls over to the side that Cain slept on, face planting into his pillow. He takes a deep breath in and… coughs. He sits up and frowns at the pillow.

That isn’t thunderbolts and lightening. That’s more like… fresh corn and twilight dew or something. Pleasant, but not what Dean wanted. 

Dean leans down to sniff his own pillow. There’s his own scent and the notes of thunderbolts beneath it. It’s lovely.

Then he leans down to sniff Cain’s again.

What the hell? Why does his bed smell like two different alphas?

And who’s the second one?

Dean freaks out enough that he strips the sheets bare, even if he silently bemoans the eternal loss of that thunder smell. He gets the laundry going straight away and jumps in the shower. 

He washes with the neutralizing soap since he has to go into work, and it washes away Cain’s scent. He gets out and dries off.

It might be because he’s obsessing over it, but it almost seems like the other scent stays with him. Sticks to him, maybe? He turns his head to sniff his shoulder.

He must be losing it.

Instead of going crazy over some phantom smell Dean cooks up a hearty breakfast. The smell of bacon permeates the air enough that he can forget about the scent while he finishes getting ready for work.

Charlie calls him when he’s just entering the metro. He’d drive his car but parking’s a bitch in the city and he hates the queue that’s on the highway every damn day at 7.30am and 4.30 pm.

“Hello, you lucky dog,” Charlie greets him and Dean imagines her wiggling her eyebrows.

“Charlie, hey,” Dean says. Maybe she can help. She has to know who smells like a thunderstorm, right?

“I saw you leave with Cain last night,” she says.

“Yeah,” Dean says, noncommittally. “Hey, do you have time today? I gotta talk to you.”

“Oh no,” Charlie sighs. “What did I do?”

“Nothing!” Dean comforts her. “Nothing, it’s not- Listen, my scent’s being weird, I’m kind of freaking out.”

“Dude, what?!” Charlie squeals. “After being with Cain?”

Dean frowns, “No, it’s not Cain.” He sees that the train is pulling up to his stop next and cuts it short. “Charlie, I gotta go, but please meet me tonight. Just come by mine, okay? Please?” He would be embarrassed about begging but this is an emergency.

“Yeah, of course, Dean. I’ll be there,” Charlie promises right before Dean ends the call.

He gets through the day doing minimal work and maximal stressing. He didn’t talk to anyone else last night, didn’t even greet anyone else. There was only Cain. But it’s not Cain. Somehow Dean had a close enough encounter with someone to fucking scent bond, and he didn’t even notice.

Fuck his life, seriously.

He gets through it, somehow, both the unproductive, half workday and the commute home. Charlie, bless her soul, like seriously, is already waiting on the curb outside Dean’s apartment when he gets home.

She stands up when she sees him and he jogs the last few yards towards her. “Hey Charlie, thanks for com-ARGH,” he yelps mid-sentence when Charlie pulls him to her by the collar of his jacket.

She sticks her nose directly under his ear and he squirms as she takes a big sniff.

“Dude,” he says, pushing her off. “Heard of boundaries?”

“Oh shut up,” Charlie mumbles, leaning in to smell him, though staying a respectful three inches away from his neck. “Yeah,” she says, nodding when she leans back. “That’s definitely changed.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Charlie strokes his arm softly. “Let’s go inside.”

Once they're seated in Dean’s kitchen with steaming mugs of coffee in front of them, Charlie turns to look at him.

“This is a good thing, Dean. I don’t get why you’re freaking out,” she says.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve apparently scent-bonded with someone I don’t even know. It’s been 24 freaking hours and it’s still not gone! This is serious!” Dean’s voice nears a hysterical level as he goes and he takes a deep breath in at the end of his sentence.

All Dean had ever heard of scent-bonds was that if not mated or not physically around the other, then the scent would disappear again after a day.

Charlie puts a hand on his forearm, stroking lightly. “Let’s be rational about this, okay? You talked to Cain last night, but you’re adamant it’s not him. So… who else did you talk to?”

“That’s the thing. You dragged me off to introduce me to Cain the moment I arrived. I barely even talked to your receptionist,” Dean whines.

“Okay,” Charlie mumbles. She nods and looks up at the ceiling while she thinks. “Hmm… Oh!” She points a finger and grins at Dean. “How about the people Cain was talking to?”

Dean remembers the boisterous red-headed alpha, and the glasses-wearing, beautiful one. And the two timid omegas. He hadn’t exchanged one word with them. Not even a glance.

“I guess? I mean I don’t have any better suggestions,” he shrugs.

“Let me set up a meeting with Abaddon. It could totally be her, like I could totally see you and her as a power couple,” Charlie gushes, grinning like the case is already solved. It’s contagious, Dean finds. “I’ll set up a dinner for you guys, how about that?” she asks, phone already out as she scrolls through her contacts.

Dean agrees and one short phone call later, Dean has a date set up for that weekend.

Abaddon is a busy woman, self-employed at her own start-up, which means that just because it’s the weekend, she doesn’t have time off.

That’s why Dean is standing outside a trendy cocktail bar at 11pm that Saturday night. It’s not his scene, really not at all. The rooftop garden and the loud pop music and the purple blinking lights. 

He’s overwhelmed from the moment he steps inside but luckily Abaddon spots him.

She’s wearing white leather pants and a white leather jacket over a white corset, and gold jewelry. Dean feels wildly out of place in his blue jeans and leather jacket.

“Hey gorgeous,” she says, grinning behind red lipstick when she sidles up to him.

“Hi,” Dean greets awkwardly, thrown off by the loud music pumping around them.

“Come, I have a table,” Abaddon says and guides Dean towards a booth with velvet-covered seats.

There’s two azure blue drinks on the table already, with matching umbrellas in them. Abaddon gestures to them, “I went ahead and ordered for you,” she says, in that alpha-way, like Dean’s a silly little omega who can’t possibly decide on a drink from the eclectic menu.

Dean just nods. He wishes he had a beer. Even if he hasn’t caught her scent yet, he knows there’s no way it’s her. But he might as well get drunk since he’s already here.

He does, fantastically so. And when he grinds with her later on the dance floor he’s sentient enough to notice that her rich cherry scent isn’t compatible with his sunshine one, and it could never measure up to thunderstorms anyway.

‘Hungover’ doesn’t even cover how he’s feeling the next day.

His mouth feels like bottom of his high school gym bag and his muscles are sore from alcohol and dancing (_dancing!_ Cringe!). He’s pretty sure he’s sweating alcohol.

As he lies in bed and stares at his ceiling, contemplating whether he’s hungover or still drunk, he wonders why he’s awake.

And then he realizes his phone is chiming with his ringtone somewhere on the floor.

He finds it, managing not to throw up when he moves to reach for it. Sam. Fuck his life. The worst person to talk to when you’re hungover is _fucking_ Sam. That kid _runs his hangovers off!_ Like a psychopath!

“What?” Dean mumbles. God, he wants to throw up all the pretentious sugary drinks he drank last night. A flashback tells him his already threw some of them up, on the road while his Uber stopped at a red light. Ugh.

“Can you take me to the farmers market?” Sam says, not even bothering to try and butter him up first.

“No! Fuck you!” Dean groans.

Sam huffs into the receiver. “Stop being an asshole. I need pumpkins, they’re in season.”

“So? Go to the store?” Dean says, wondering how this freak could possibly be his brother.

“No, Dean,” Sam says, all condescendingly, like _Dean’s_ the one being annoying. “You know I’m trying to buy more local.”

Dean rolls his eyes. He kind of could use a good talk with Sam. It always gives him perspective. And he could probably rope him into buying him a breakfast burrito on their way there. But he also kind of really does not want to talk to Sam. He’ll be able to smell the scent change and get all excited, and then Dean’s has to deal with some disappointed bitch face that Dean isn’t only a slut, he’s enough of a slut that he scent bonds to someone and _doesn’t even know who_. Ugh.

“Fine. I’mma hop in the shower and I’ll be there in 20,” he relents anyway.

Dean’s brave but he’s not brave enough to attempt a breakfast burrito when he just threw up in his shower fifteen minutes ago.

He sticks to coffee.

“What did you do last night?” Sam asks, more curious than judgmental, which makes Dean think he might still be drunk.

“Date,” he mumbles into his mug of coffee.

Sam’s eating blueberry porridge and Dean’s insides turn at the sight of it. He hides a gag behind his coffee cup.

“What, and you couldn’t shower before going to the family-friendly, wholesome farmer’s market?” Sam asks, smirking as he stirs syrup into his porridge with horrid squelching noises.

“What do you mean? I did shower,” Dean gestures to his still wet hair.

Sam scrunches his nose up, “Then why do you still smell like your date?”

Dean’s absolutely certain he pales. The scent is comforting in his sensitive state but oh god he can’t deal with this. “Didn’t sleep with her,” he says.

“So what’s with your scent?” Sam asks, eating his stupid porridge.

Dean rubs his hands down his face, sighing deeply, before looking back up at Sam. “I scent bonded to someone,” he says with a small voice.

Sam nearly chokes on his breakfast. “You _what?_ On your date?”

“No, not on the date,” Dean says. He averts his eyes and mumbles: “Three days ago.”

Under different circumstances it would have been funny the way Sam’s eyes boggles. “_Three days ago?!_ Dude, that’s serious!”

“I know,” Dean groans.

“They usually go away after 24 hours if you don’t see them again,” Sam says, like that’s not common knowledge to all True Mate believers. Not that Dean’s a True Mate believer. Or maybe, he is a little bit after everything that’s happened in the past few days.

“Fuck my life,” is all Dean has to say about that.

They’re back in the car after Sam’s finished his porridge and Dean’s puked up his first cup of coffee but managed to keep the second one down plus a glass of water.

“Dude, if you don’t find them before your next heat, you’re gonna have a shitty time,” Sam says suddenly.

Dean wants to slam his head on the steering wheel. According to the literature, scent mates that don’t have their mate during their cycle get sick with flu like symptoms for the duration of it. Dean’s not looking forward to that. He only has like four days according to his cycle tracking app.

He finds parking, so there must be a god after all. Sam heads towards the cabbage stand first, and Dean just trails after him.

He wants to get some produce but he’s enough off center due to the hangover and the fucking scent bond that he can’t think straight.

So he’s content with wandering down one of the paths with booths on both sides with Sam, and maybe it’s the fresh air or the friendly atmosphere but he could swear he’s starting to feel better.

His head isn’t pounding anymore, and he actually manages to laugh at Sam’s jokes, and his stomach grumbles as his appetite comes back.

Speaking of, something smells really good. Dean follows his nose past a few booths. It’s sweet and spicy, with notes of something else, something that’s fresh and comforting and makes the fog in Dean’s head clear.

He finds the source at the honey stand. There’s an older later behind it, smiling and chatting to a customer while she smears honey onto a toasted piece of honey cake. 

Dean’s never been much of a honey-person, but as he watches the lady smear it on the cake , he finds that he needs that. 

The lady finishes buttering the piece of cake and hands it to the customer, who accepts it with nimble fingers with close cut finger nails. And a scent that Dean’s known his whole life.

Because it’s his.

He looks up into black-framed blue eyes of an alpha that holding the piece of cake halfway towards his open mouth, honey running down his hand as he's frozen in place.

Dean’s breath leaves him. There it is. Lightening bolts and sunshine all in one.

And Dean knows who this is! Or, he doesn’t _know who it is_, but he’s seen him. The quiet alpha, the one Dean found beautiful when he was supposed to be checking somebody else out.

“Dean!” Sam says, running up to him. Dean realizes he may have just walked off while Sam was buying parsnips without saying anything.

“Dean,” the alpha says in a deep voice that runs through Dean’s whole system like molasses.

Dean is gaping. He knows that. He manages to open and close his mouth a couple of time before the alpha speaks again.

“You were at Charlie’s party,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean says, mostly as a sigh, still thrown. He manages to find his voice to say: “So were you.”

“You were with Cain,” the alpha says, like he’s trying to place where they saw each other.

Dean’s taking in everything about this alpha, his scent mingled with Dean’s own, he sharp features that are actually so fucking Alpha up close, the way he holds himself, not like as Asshole Alpha, like how Abaddon held herself, or like a Superior Gender Alpha, like Cain.

“Fuck Cain,” Dean says, and it earns him a smile and a chuckle that he swears he can feel in his heart.

Dean finds himself smiling as he keeps eye contact with the alpha. Fuck, he doesn’t even know the guy's name, but looking into his eyes he knows him. He just does.

“Uhm, Dean?” Sam says and nudges Dean.

Dean barely manages to pull himself away, “Hm?”

Sam gives him a look that says _what the fuck?_

“That’s him,” Dean says. “With the scent.”

Sam gapes then and looks at the guy. Dean hates when he does it but also kind of doesn’t, but Sam does that alpha-to-alpha thing, that’s threatening in a non-threatening way. He’s measuring the guy up.

“I’m Castiel,” the alpha - Castiel - says. Dean looks back at him and Castiel meets his eyes, looking away from Sam. 

“Castiel,” Dean whispers, mostly to himself, just to feel it in his mouth.

“Ugh,” Sam says behind Dean but Dean’s barely registering it. “I guess I’ll be introduced later?”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“Hrmph!” Sam says behind him, so Dean fishes the car keys out of his front pocket, not missing the way Castiel’s eyes go to his crotch at the movement, nor the sharp teeth sinking into his lower lip before he meets Dean’s eyes again. Dean hands Sam the keys without looking away.

“Would you like to have lunch with me at my house? It's not far,” Castiel asks.

Dean almost says that he’d like to have a lot of other things than fucking lunch with Cas, but manages not to. Castiel must somehow sense it though because his pupils dilate slightly.

“Yes,” Dean just says. Lunch is probably a good place to start, even if they are soul mates and all.


End file.
